Exiled to the Stars

by Zellmann, William

  But now the colony could begin to develop as nations had developed on Earth: with the adventurous exploring new lands, blazing trails for others to follow. Of course, Crashlanding wasn't Earth. But the latest generation of Planetborn were becoming more and more adapted to the new world. In two or three more generations, they would belong here. They would no longer be an offshoot of another planet, and they could begin to settle the world!

  His optimistic mood continued until Lee reminded him to call Lars. Lars announced that he and Jana would be right over. The beg man's apparent sense of urgency puzzled Ken, and he began to wonder what Lars knew that he didn't. They arrived within twenty minutes. Lars' limp was barely noticeable now, though he still used a cane, and Jana still hovered over him like a mother hen.

  "Ken," the big man began, settling his bulk into a chair that creaked at the strain. "We…that is, Jana and I…Well, we think I might have left an erroneous impression after the power failure. Oh, I mean, we didn't lie or anything, but…"

  Jana nudged him with a sharp elbow. "Oh, spit it out, you old fart!" She turned to Ken. "Have you been following the reports from the R65C

  Ken shook his head. "Not really. I was talking to Jorge just before the power failure. He thinks there're problems with it.

  Jana shook her head. "No, there's nothing wrong with it. Frank's checked it over half a dozen times. But my, our real concern is that while the machine is turning up lots of valuable minerals, so far it hasn't shown any of the so-called 'rare earths', like platinum, palladium or polonium."

  From her manner, Jana thought this was an important fact, but it meant nothing to Ken. "And is that a problem?"

  She shook her head. "It isn't now, but it could become one."

  "Y'see, Ken," Lars took up, "EarthGov expected us to set up the big fusactor, and even provided the critical pieces necessary to make more. But I guess they thought any Earthlike planet would have a supply of those metals. They're essential for the cold fusion process. Oh, in an emergency we can use nickel for a while, but for short periods only. Since we've lit off the big fusactor, and we have the one at the mine going, well, we'll be able to run for about twenty years on what EarthGov gave us. Even so, we'll have to shut down the big one on the ship, the life-support fusactor. The small one will be enough to run the computer and hydroponics and stuff.

  Jana nodded. "And Frank tells me that's not a lot of time to find exploitable deposits of such rare ores, and set up to mine and purify them. We've gone back through the R65C's reports looking for references to those ores, but so far, it's only detected trace amounts of them, nothing it would be practical to mine."

  Lars nodded. "Now, it has found uranium, and the Comp has enough information for us to build a fission reactor, but those things are so damned dangerous they've been banned on Earth."

  He shrugged. "I guess the point is that if we don't turn up a source of platinum, palladium or polonium within the next five years, we'd better have a good backup plan."

  'And what would that be?" Ken asked.

  Lars shook his head. "I don't know. But it's not too early to start thinking about it." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Ken. I know we're letting you down, but…"

  So that was why Lars sounded so apologetic. "Don't be a fool, Lars. It's not your fault we didn't land next to a pile of platinum. By the way, isn't platinum a precious metal on Earth?"

  Lars nodded and grinned. "Yeah. A platinum fusactor contains a fortune in the stuff. That's why they found ways to use the others. But at least here, we won't have jewelers competing for it."

  They chatted for a few more minutes before Lars and Jana could be ushered out. Ken sighed. That was all they needed, he decided. An energy crisis. And if the R65C hadn't found any of the stuff they needed in the years it had been prospecting, it told him the elements were as rare here as on Earth, and there was little chance they would locate any in time.

  They were going to need a miracle.

  ~~~~~~

  BOOK III: CITY

  ~~~~~~

  Chapter 23

  Thirdmonth 15, Year 39 A.L.

  "Good morning, Administrator."

  Ken rose to greet his visitor. "Messer Brooks," he acknowledged. He proffered a hand with obvious reluctance, and Jack Brooks took it with a sardonic half-smile.

  "I'll bet that was hard," he commented, with a significant glance at their hands.

  Ken sighed as he retrieved his hand. "As Administrator, one becomes accustomed to performing unpleasant duties," he replied. "Please sit down, sire."

  Ken looked at the man he'd tried to ignore for so many years. He certainly didn't look like a villain or a monster. He appeared to be in his mid-40's, pudgy, slightly below average height. Instead of the ubiquitous ship suit, he wore a bright green tunic that only enhanced the lighter green tinge to his otherwise sallow complexion, above blue trousers.

  His face was generally NorEuro, though a slight epicanthic fold to his eyes revealed that the heritage was not pure. Of course, there was virtually no 'pure' stock left, of any race. Nor was his walk the swagger of the villain. Overall, Ken was struck by the very ordinaryness of the man. Richest man in the colony he might be, but except for his wardrobe, he would disappear in a crowd of three.

  Jack nodded as he took a seat. "Yes. Your dislike of me is known colony-wide, though I confess I know of no reason for it, since we've never really met."

  Ken's professional smile surfaced. "Yes. Well, this is probably not the time to discuss it. We have other business."

  Jack shook his head. "I'm sorry, sire, but I think this is the perfect time to discuss it." A sardonic half-smile rose. "Since you so studiously avoid me, we're unlikely to have many chances."

  Ken shrugged, his formal smile fading. "Ah! It's honesty you want. Very well, sire. I consider you a parasite. You have become very wealthy by preying on the weaknesses of the people, draining them of resources they could be using to improve the lot of their families, while helping the colony develop."

  Jack's sardonic smile faded to seriousness, and he shook his head. "I thought it was something like that. You think I'm some sort of Planetborn Doug Ryles. Well, if I may lecture a bit, perhaps I can correct a few misapprehensions.

  "Ryles was a cheap grifter; a small-timer whose ambition and greed far exceeded his intelligence. He traded in blackmail, threats and other assorted mayhem. I do none of those things. I'm not a Doug Ryles, sire. I'm simply a businessman. Yes, I'm ambitious, but not in the way Ryles was. I don't want to take over the colony, or destroy it, or slow its development. Do you seriously think I don't realize that my welfare is intimately tied to that of the colony? If the colony dies, I die.

  "I simply provide what you and the colony do not. Recognition that 'time off' does not mean time spent simply sitting and waiting to go back to work. I deal in Recreation and fun. You know I built the children's playground in the square, complete with monitors."

  Ken nodded, his expression skeptical. "Yes, to provide a place for parents to dump their kids while they waste their money in your casino."

  Jack nodded. "To a certain extent, of course, you're right. I'm not married, but I have a number of friends with children. I've seen that parents need a place to take the kids, a place they can know the kids are safe, while they take a break from the constant stress. It's been a long time, I know, sire, but think back to your own children. Did your wife never beg you to take a day off, to hire a sitter, to go somewhere, just the two of you?"

  Ken's shoulders relaxed slightly. He did remember those times. With guilt for the times he'd had to refuse, and with pleasure in the memories of the times he hadn't.

  "The point is," Jack continued, "without me, and my casino, and my park, and my playground, the colony would be a much grimmer place; a prison with little to look forward to. Oh, I know," Jack said as Ken opened his mouth to reply. "You have your Bingo games, held in a gray, characterless multipurpose hall, with colorless callers announcing numbers in bored monotones.

  "My casin
o is filled with life, and music, and fun, and laughter. That's not their 'weakness'. That's their humanity! Yes, I'm making money, but you're the one who set up this capitalist system." He shrugged. "If you want a little truth, I think you've been wasting a lot of good opportunities. We should be working together on things like the Seaport Project, not fighting over them. I assume that project is why you finally steeled yourself to meet with the Devil."

  Ken nodded. "Of course. You know that the Council has not approved a fishing settlement on the seacoast, and they are unlikely to do so."

  Jack shook his head. "Of course, they are. That's why Jim Watson and old 'Berto Gomez came to me when you turned them down. You know very well that catches are diminishing in the river, and we haven't found any more edible species. If Jim hadn't come up with the idea of using ground-up fish from Gouge Lake in the livestock feed, the fishermen would be out of business. The Seacoast Project is their chance to start over."

  Ken shook his head. "But the coast is thirty klicks from here. We couldn't protect them, Besides, what would they do for power? We certainly couldn't afford to build a fusactor that far from the colony. The colony is responsible for those people. We can't let them just go haring off into the wilderness."

  Jack shook his head. "What gives you the right to stop them? They're not asking you to be responsible. This will be strictly a private enterprise project. In fact, we're making every effort to avoid colony involvement. We don't intend to go to the Council for a while.

  "We will employ our own defense force, and negotiate the purchase of weapons from the armory. And if the Council refuses to sell them to us, we'll just have some of the colony's private companies make us some. Maybe old-fashioned firearms. And we won't need a fusactor. The fishermen are experts in solar power now, and the site survey indicated that a brisk offshore wind might make windmills practical. We'll build a road from here to the coast, so we can transport our catch."

  He shook his head again, and raised his eyes to meet Ken's. "Admit it, Administrator. If my name wasn't linked to it, you'd be falling all over yourself to push this project. It's time we started breaking out of this little farming enclave, and spreading out. The only things we'll ask of the colony administration is to sell us a few of the things we'll need, like weapons. Since nearly everything we'll need is now produced by private companies, very little involvement by the colony, and especially the Council, is required."

  Ken frowned. He'd seen the plans for the Seaport Project, and Brooks was right. If he hadn't been involved, Ken would have been a cheerleader for the project. Still…

  "Okay," he said, "That's the sales pitch. Now, what's your angle? What are you going to be taking from those people?

  A genuine smile finally crossed Brooks' face. "I'm financing it. I'll be a full partner in their co-op, and receive a standard share of the income from the catch." He shrugged. "It'll probably take a couple of years for them to turn a profit, but I'm ready for that."

  He paused, and then continued, "Administrator, I came here to level with you. Ever since I was a kid, all I wanted was to be rich. Oh, I know that wealth is power, but it wasn't power I was after. I was smart enough to grab Ryles' casino when the colony went private, and used it to get rich. Yes, after the still was such a success, I actually considered organizing prostitution and some other vices, but I didn't have the stomach for it. I guess gambling and booze was my limit.

  "But I was surprised by how easy and quick it was to become wealthy. And I found I had already reached that lifetime goal. I was the wealthiest man in the colony, and I was too young to retire, and not content to just sit in my office and run my casino, still, and real estate. Five years ago, I was out of challenges. It was too easy! And I've spent the last five years looking for more challenges. The Seacoast Project is the first thing I've been excited about in years. I don't care if I spend my last zinc on it. Money's easy, and I've still got the casino and still.

  "And frankly, I don't much care whether you join me or fight me. Either way, it'll be a challenge, and it'll be fun." The grin he turned on Ken was wide and genuine, and Ken had to restrain himself from answering it with one of his own.

  "Yes, well," he replied, "I suspect you're going to need a lot more from the colony than just a few weapons. And I doubt the Council will agree with your easy dismissal of their authority.

  "I'll have to think about this," he continued. "In many ways you're correct, and it is a road down which I was hoping the colony would go. But I'm not at all certain that this is the time, or that we're ready for such adventures." He sighed. "Well, Messer Brooks, this may have been the first time we met, but I'm certain it won't be the last. We'll be talking again."

  Jack nodded, accepting the dismissal, rose and headed for the door. He turned back at the sound of Ken's voice. "By the way, I don't suppose any of this has anything to do with Jorge Fuentes suddenly trying to form a 'Miner's Guild' and demand higher wages for the miners, does it?"

  Jack grinned and shook his head. "Not guilty. From what I've read on the comp, it sounds like Capitalism at work. Your 'revolution' is finally coming home to roost." He paused. "I think you've got a wolf lizard by the tail. And you can't let go: there are teeth in the other end!" He sailed out the door without waiting for a reply.

  Ken had just found a paper he'd been seeking on his desk when Evelyn's sweet contralto said, "Jorge Fuentes is calling, dear. Should I put him through?"

  Ken sighed. "Speak of the devil," he muttered, and then, louder, "Put him through."

  When Jorge's image appeared on his monitor, he put on a professional smile. "Good Morning, Jorge. Call to threaten me with your union again?"

  Jorge looked confused. "What? What? Oh. That. No, we're still organizing. I called because we're getting those weird readings again."

  Here we go, Ken told himself. Dragging it out of him, bit by bit. "What readings? What are you talking about?"

  Jorge frowned. "Why, the R65C, of course.

  "The what?" he paused. "Oh, yar, the metals detector."

  Jorge stared as though he'd just grown another head. "Of course the metals detector. The one that's installed in the big airship, and that's been running scans for about fifteen years, now."

  Ken chuckled. "Jorge, do you have any idea how long it's been since I even thought of that gadget?" He paused. "If it's acting up, shouldn't you be talking to Frank Wong? It's his baby, isn't it?"

  Jorge's expression became exasperated. "It isn't 'acting up', and there's nothing wrong with it! Frank just did the complete maintenance program a month ago. It's not the machine. There's something out there!"

  Ken suppressed a grimace. "Something out there? What is that supposed to mean?"

  Jorge's exasperation faded to worried confusion. "Don't you remember – no, you probably wouldn't. The machine did this once before, a few years ago. You were going to send out some Explorers, but that was about the time the power went out, I think. Now we're getting the same kinds of readings, and in the same area."

  Ken struggled to keep from rolling his eyes. Jorge could be a problem, sometimes. "What kind of readings? What's weird about them?"

  Jorge shrugged. "Oh, you know, showing very strong concentrations of some metals, and some strange alloys. Even the comp can't identify some of them. I think there's something made out there. Something not natural."

  Oh, wow. Well, Jorge was getting on in years. He should be ready for retirement soon. Ken wondered if it would be soon enough. He sighed. "All right, Jorge, I'll send a heli with a detachment of Explorers. How far away is this?"

  Jorge shrugged again. "About 500 klicks north of here."

  Ken nodded. "Okay. Send the coordinates to my tablet. I'll get hold of Ron Creding and see who he can send."

  Ron shook his head. "You know, sire, Messer Fuentes is always trying to get us to run ground surveys for him."

  Ken sighed. "Yes, I do know, Ron. I'm the one he comes to when you tell him you want Council approval first.

  "But this is
different. I'm getting a little worried about Jorge. He's really got a bug about this thing. I'm afraid he's going to start seeing aliens or something. I just need a couple of your people to take a quick run up there in the heli, and find out what he's talking about. It's only about 500 klicks. If you get an early start, you can probably do it in one day."

  Ron grinned. "Well, Grampa Vlad's been complaining that he hasn't seen the twins in almost a week. This could be a good excuse to drop them on him and run off for a private weekend. I'm qualified to fly the heli."

  Ken smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me. If Vlad complains, tell him it's colony business."

  "Complain? Are you kidding?"

  Ken nodded. "All right. But Ron, take this seriously, will you? If we are getting anomalous readings from that thing, we probably need to know what it is."

  Ron's grin faded. "We always take our work seriously, sire. We'll load the heli tonight, and lift off early tomorrow." His smile flared again. "We might not get back for a couple of days, though. These investigations can take time."

  Ken nodded, smiling. "Understood. Call me when you get back."

  Expecting the Credings to enjoy a few days' camping, Ken was surprised when Evelyn announced a call from Ron the next afternoon.

  "We're on our way back, sire," Ron reported his tone full of excitement. "Will you be at home later? We have something to discuss with you."

  Ken started to ask a question, but he'd already noticed that Ron was trying to avoid reporting over the 'net. "Well," he said, "I have some reports I'm looking over. I'll just hang around here until you arrive."

  Ron nodded. "Thank you, sire. About two hours."

  When Ron and Elaine arrived just over two hours later, their excitement was obvious. They were obviously bursting with news.

  "Messer Fuentes was right, sire," Ron began excitedly. "There's something out there, all right. We think we've finally found those natives we've been looking for!" Elaine, eyes large in her darker face, was nodding enthusiastically.